


You were never lovelier

by Lady_Cleo



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: BAMF Will Graham, Body Dysmorphic Disorder, Body Dysphoria, Body Image, Don't copy to another site, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Fall (Hannibal), References to Depression, Soft!Hannibal, Switching, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-26 00:22:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20034766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Cleo/pseuds/Lady_Cleo
Summary: In the aftermath of their Fall, Hannibal and Will experience unexpected changes. Hannibal is not dealing well at all.





	You were never lovelier

**Author's Note:**

> My beautiful inspiration art was by the amazing Hannibaltheass, and this story wouldn't exist without her.
> 
> Special shiny bonus thanks to Wisesnail for letting me reference her work.
> 
> Please be advised before reading: this Hannibal is soft (in a lot of ways) and in a very dark headspace for a while. This is both slightly OOC and potentially upsetting/triggering.

Hannibal Lecter had never been a particularly religious man, but he was certain he was in Hell. Purgatory at the very least. This torturous limbo he existed in was wearing on him by the hour like an ancient punishment. Bad enough the physical prison he'd been condemned into; now must he suffer the torment of inconvenient emotion as well?

Hannibal had always been an object of admiration. A beautiful baby, a darling child, a devastating teen who seemed to neatly vault over the awkward hurdles of puberty like an Olympic gymnast. Throughout his life both women and men (seemingly regardless of orientation) found themselves drawn to him, helpless to stop falling at least a little in love with him against their will.

He was a master of control, ruthless and absolute. Culinary composition, sartorial perfection, mental brilliance, the rare need for exercise to maintain his hunting physique, everything to his exact and exacting standards. And typically, his body obeyed. He was not bogged down by excess weight, even given the seeming sedentary and indulgent lifestyle and quieter profession he'd chosen. He never got sick, a strange combination of excellent genetic predisposition and a ruthless determination to be above such pedestrian things. It was far more interesting to examine the illness and infirmity that sprang up in others, the lesser, the weaker around him like so many weeds in an otherwise flawless garden.

But this time he'd had no defense against it. Against his will he'd been weakened, brought low, unable to fight against a softening that came in unceasing as the tides. His edges became dulled and blunted as butter knives when he was accustomed to a razor edge that could butterfly all manner of prey in the blink of an eye. Heretofore so beautifully obedient, his body was now a heartless traitor.

The fall had not broken him entirely but badly enough, recovery stretching like a mythical sentence before him, the return to his previous perfect wholeness seeming forever just out of reach as fruit to Tantalus. Gone was the arresting allure written in muscle and sinew, honed like a blade against a whetstone by swimming, dance, martial arts, and his extracurricular activities. He had since increased and was now... _soft_. The word sat slimy and unpalatable in his mind like lukewarm vichyssoise. He stopped looking at mirrors, unable to stomach the altered sight of himself. He couldn't begin to fathom how Will (who in a cruelly ironic twist of fate had survived bloodied and beautiful and breathtakingly **whole**) could stand such a thing. 

Gone also was the fluid animal grace with which he had always moved. A strict regimen of physical therapy allowed him to get around better now that his leg had healed but he was nowhere near his former state. No longer did he hobble like a man of more advanced age, but he was still agonizingly slow. _Everything_ was slow now, took so much longer alone. Yet he was determined to do it all himself, to gain his own power and move under his own steam. Despite the comfort he drew from Will's supportive touch like balm to a scarred soul, he resisted, pulled away from it as much as he was able. From Will whenever possible.

The process of adaption was a long one under the best of circumstances. Better to start getting used to it now. Even though he would miss Will with a desperation unmatched even by the single-mindedness with which he had pursued him.

Dear Will, his sweet William. His love. His equal in so many ways, in aesthetic and brilliance, similar yet different. Uniquely alone yet made for each other. 

He'd known it from the moment they met. 

Eyes sliding closed and body relaxing as he slipped into his memories like a warm bath, he recalled perfectly when he'd first seen Will. The profiler almost deathly averse to eye contact, wearing clothes better suited to a donation bin - or a rubbish fire. His hair was unkempt and there was something guarded in his movements, like a skittish deer scenting the air for predators. His was not a face one would initially be drawn to. Only upon closer inspection would one notice the rare sculptural beauty, the fine features, the depth of feeling waiting beneath the surface like a scripture writ in stone submerged in a still pool. And to a man who considered he might always be alone in some way, never truly connecting with another on any true level (or at least not the sort that led to enduring relationships of note) he'd nearly been knocked breathless to recognize a similar loneliness within the younger man - though for a uniquely different reason. It had even been in his scent- an unmistakable aroma of acute longing teasing out beneath the woolen huff of his canine family and a cloud of unfortunate aftershave.

Will with his hesitant eye contact and blown-wide empathy had shattered Hannibal's carefully constructed defenses like a troublesome sibling crashing through a blanket fort. No malice, no harmful intent, simply need and beauty and lovely darkness. Through years and scars and wounds, the proxy of another's skin, denials and destructive escalations, they had always come back to each other, drawn like rare earth magnets.

Nothing in the world could have prepared him for Will Graham. He wouldn't have had it any other way.

But that was then. And now was unalterably now, and could never be a long time ago.

They had fought in glorious bloody battle and exited the other side reborn, realized. Baptized in blood to become all that they need be, namely with each other. Will had dragged him over the cliff's edge and stayed. But now they faced a precipice of impossible height and danger, impassable on all sides. And Will would not stay now. He had no need; they were no longer equals. Hannibal had less to offer. Sadder, older, softer, lesser. All the money in the world and unable to spend it to keep the only thing he'd ever truly wanted, the only person he'd dared to love since the loss of his darling sister. There was no price high enough to make staying with him out of pity worth it, and Will was no vapid sugar baby, content to be paid and pampered for the pleasure of his company.

Eventually he _would_ leave, and Hannibal would be helpless to stop him. 

He had already determined that he would not even dare try.

The sudden creak of a floorboard snapped him out of his musings like a twig breaking underfoot in a quiet forest.

"Hey." Will appeared, steps whisper soft on the hardwood floor, two portions of a hearty lunch on a tray. The gesture was no longer unusual, though its strange effect on his heart still was.

Gods save him from the demon necessity that was **food**. It restored his easily depleted reserves of energy and patience, kept his hateful body alive, even tasted better than such rustic fare had any right to - when he could make his palate appreciate any flavor but the bitterness of self-loathing and the ashen mouthfeel of mortification. 

Will set the tray on a small rolling table and slid it nearer the bed before perching on the edge, one leg drawn up and an ankle tucked under the opposite knee in a figure 4 as he regarded Hannibal with a shy smile radiant with soft warmth, like a nursery nightlight.

"I know you said you wanted to try eating in the living room today, but honestly it's just so cold down there, even with the fireplace. I'd much rather be up here where it's cosy. Didn't think you'd mind," he proffered in explanation, along with a gesture to the tray that still sat untouched near Hannibal's elbow.

He was waiting, Hannibal knew. No matter how ravenous his hunger - and his appetite must've been extreme given his recent spates of outdoor activity, such as chopping firewood and going for bracing walks through the rolling barren forest that surrounded the house like a sea around a sheltered island - Will would not begin to eat until Hannibal did. Perhaps some throwback behavior from when he was coaxing wary strays that it was safe to consume what a strange human had put before them. It had been that way since Hannibal's first recollections of consciousness - held close with Will tipping vitamin-rich milk formula down his throat as if he were a baby, too weak to swallow... while a meal sat untouched. The sounds of Will humming in the kitchen coming up through the floorboards as Hannibal drifted in a drug-hazed cocoon of cotton and flannel, until the memory of Will spoon-feeding him warm broth he'd made from the foodstuffs in the well stocked pantry filtered through. 

Will offering plates of simple filling food that increased in solidity and texture over the weeks they'd spent here. Each time he would wait, watching Hannibal with fond anticipation glimmering in his eyes until the first few bites had passed the former doctor's lips. Only then would he take up his own portion and begin to eat in companionable silence, quiet smiles thrown Hannibal's way throughout the meal.

But now was not the time to be lost within the maudlin wing of his mind palace - and not only because to keep Will waiting longer than necessary was just plain rude.

With a tightly held sigh he pushed himself up and settled into a straighter posture against the pillows, noting an aborted move to touch him in his peripherals. Will knew not to try anymore unless expressly asked. He was never asked.

It was not Will's fault that Hannibal was an addict trying to wean himself off his drug of choice. It was the shattered teacup all over again, unable to bring the pieces back together. And **he** had not been mended with gold, made whole and newly beautiful if not as he had been. No, he had been pasted together with knacker's glue, thick common paste that bled at the seams and left unsightly bumps and stains even as it sought to adhere itself to the person attempting the repair. The stitches pulling him back together were ragged and raw, jagged and harsh as they strained to contain him. They would leave scars and marks he would bear until the end of time.

Gods above, but there were so many differences between them now, reversals that might never be undone. Will was now the motivated provider of food. He was now the guider and influencer of Hannibal's moods, insomuch as one speck of light could hope to drive back unending gloom. He took care with his appearance more days than he didn't, keeping his body clean, his beard neat and his curls glossy and free of tangles. His days of permitting Will to bathe him long past, Hannibal ran a haphazard washrag over the necessary bits of his skin when he couldn't muster the energy or concern to shower before swiping on deodorant and putting on cleaner clothes. He sported frequent stubble and longer shaggier hair, unable to bear his reflection for the time required to make himself presentable even when he could summon the strength to stand up for it.

Following a much-needed shower the day before, Will had cautiously offered to neaten him up, and in a burst of self-indulgence rather rare to him these days Hannibal had allowed it, absorbing every touch and greedily guarding every moment they shared in the small bathroom. Using a worn sheet as a cape Will had trimmed and combed Hannibal's hair and carefully shaved his face, cleaning up the lingering foam with a warm damp towel and a heartbreaking tenderness. When Will tried to turn him towards the mirror for Hannibal's assessment of his handiwork, he'd resisted with a tight grip to the younger man's shoulder, a strangled whisper of a 'I'm sure it's fine- thank you' and a hastily affected retreat to flagellate himself for the pathetically needful display.

Even their clothing had switched. Three-piece suits and other designer armor were no more, and would not have fit his new bulk even if they had been able to acquire anything to his typical standard amid their frozen seclusion. He now spent his days in loose pajama bottoms and soft cotton tees under fluffy sweaters and unbuttoned flannel shirts to avoid straining the buttons. Today he'd foregone the tee beneath his beloved blood-red cashmere blend, though it was one of the first times he'd bothered with proper slacks (3 sizes larger than his usual), a simple black belt added purely for aesthetic as the likelihood of the pants sliding down of their own accord was less than zero. He'd only just abandoned his reading glasses and his feet were bare, customary wool socks abandoned as the underfloor heating was finally up and running.

All that was needed was a clinging tuft of dog hair and the transformation would be complete.

Will meanwhile was wearing a snow-white buttondown neatly tucked into a pair of flat-front trousers in a brushed charcoal linen. An apron tied round his still-trim waist and a little product applied to his lustrous curls and he could be an off-brand Hannibal.

The original was far too affected to be anything more than cordial, and ignored the picture-perfect salad in favor of the succulent steaming stew with a grunt of thanks. Taking up his fork, he stabbed a roast potato with far too much force and jammed it in his mouth, ignoring the slight sear as the too-hot vegetable broke beneath his teeth and pasted itself over gums and tongue. He said nothing.

Will's brow momentarily folded in on itself and his mouth opened to say... something. But he closed up and began a far more cautious approach to his food with a stifled sigh.

The silence was not companionable tonight, the cutlery especially deafening where it scraped and shrieked and clicked and clanked. Before long the meal was done, Hannibal having had quite enough and Will's appetite all but defeated by the oppressive mood. 

He gathered the tray and left without a word. Hannibal's ears tracked his halting progress down the stairs, the slight hitch in his gait as though he were warring with which direction to move in, the gurgle in the pipes as he washed the dishes and set the kitchen to rights with what through the distance sounded like barely controlled anger.

Heaving a sigh along with his body from the bed, Hannibal headed to the bathroom, tacitly ignoring his reflection as he filled a glass. He was disgusted with himself, and why not? He'd behaved grotesquely, even if said behavior was merely a match for his exterior. Resisting the roiling protest in his gut that threatened to bring his hastily consumed dinner back up, Hannibal swished his mouth carefully with a sip of clear, cool well water and debated brushing his teeth.

Such mental processes were interrupted by the sudden reappearance of Will in his room, hands flexing into tight fists at his sides and agitation visible in his jerky barefooted pacing along the floor.

Bringing the glass with him, Hannibal carefully returned to bed, tucking himself in while Will's back was turned.

"Did I do something?" The younger man's voice was guarded, his eyes not daring to see if they would be met by Hannibal's.

The man settled back into his nest of pillows, fingers lacing themselves together in his lap. "Of course not, Will. Why do you ask?"

The profiler reacted as if he'd just been slapped. "Because something's clearly wrong. And if it's not me, then you need to tell me what it is."

"Why?" The word was fraught with vigilant neutrality.

"So I can... y'know... fix it."

"Tell me, Will - why should you worry about fixing such a thing?" The dynamic was far too reminiscent of a cat toying with a mouse before it was devoured.

"Come on. I thought we were-" Will broke off, the sudden flush blooming over his cheeks charming Hannibal against his will.

"What?" Hannibal prompted, already certain whatever answer was to come would not be what had originally been intended.

"...Friends." _And there it was._ "I t-thought... we were friends. _Are_ friends."

The answering push in his tone was almost vengefully sardonic. "Oh. _Are we?_" Will's wounded gaze sought his own.

"Aren't we?"

"I suppose we are, after a fashion," Hannibal reluctantly allowed as he straightened the folded edge of the coverlet, bracing himself against the considered impact of the words about to leave his mouth. Paper bullets, carefully sharpened terms selected to draw blood. "Rather toxic ones though, if viewed from an external perspective. Had a patient of mine described a... _friendship _like ours, I'd have advised them to sever the relationship with all due expediency." Will's face was glorious in its burgeoning anger, but enough was enough. "Frankly, Will, if this idea of us being... _friends_ is all you're staying for, I'd rather you just spare us both further agony and go now."

Will's lashes fluttered as he blinked rapidly in startled surprise. "Hannibal, what-"

"Go, Will. Please. We both know it's merely a matter of time."

"No." Will shifted closer to the bed as he spoke. "See, _'we'_ don't know shit." Hannibal manfully suppressed a Graham-worthy eyeroll at the verbal air quotes and ignored the pained frustration creeping across Will's face. "Why are you acting like this?"

"Because I have accepted what you have not yet realized. You are going to leave me."

"Hannibal-" Will reached for the older man, whose answering flinch in retreat stopped him word and deed.

"You will leave me!" The explosion was quickly smothered under a blanketing facade of implacable civility. "You **will**," he insisted, heart ripping itself like hastily removed duct tape at even the sound of the cherished name. "I know you. You are a rare and lovely thing, and you cherish your freedom. To keep you here, tethered to a wretch such as myself would be cruel, and I cannot be cruel. Not to you. Not anymore."

The harshly subdued sounds of their breathing intermingling flooded the silence that reigned over the next few moments.

Will finally spoke in a tone of gentle confusion. "Where is it you think I'd go? If I left you. What connections do you imagine I'd forge so easily with anyone who wasn't you? I can't... be myself with anyone else. I've never been able to."

Hannibal wanted to snarl the names of Alana whom he'd kissed (and yes, whom Hannibal had bedded), of Margot who had gloriously born the fruit of Will's virility for a short time. Hannibal had never fully forgiven himself for his hand in what happened to her, even if it had come out far better than it might have for nearly all parties concerned.

And then there was Molly, a Foster - so aptly named. A temporary rescue, some short-term placement with the potential for more. She had been Will's wife, given him a home and a family. Arguably she had deserved better than a finger pointed in jealous anger, siccing a vicious beast upon her and all she held dear. Her life had been fundamentally altered by Hannibal's hand, and the pieces could never be collected and put back as they had once been. Even when Will left him, he would never go back to her. He wondered if she already knew, had already been quietly resigned to the last time she'd seen her husband being the last time she ever would.

"And even when I tried," Will's voice shattered his heated reverie, dragging him back into the present. "It never lasted. It never could have. I know that now, Hannibal. You finally got me to see."

"But that is just it, Will. You _do_ see. You must. You must know that you could be so much more than-" The rest of the sentence was viciously cut off, bit back where it could do no harm. _Primum non nocere_ \- his oath, if rarely his creed. But where Will was concerned... harm seemed inevitable.

"Hannibal, the only thing I'm more of without you is miserable. Without you, I'm less. Less whole, less... me. We give each other context, remember?"

Of course he did. He remembered everything. It was his burden to bear, these Dickensian shadows of things that had been. "That can no longer be the case. Is no longer the case, Will. You must go."

A muscle ticked in the younger man's jaw, just below the scar his beard neatly covered. "And why _must _I?"

A grudging sigh born from the depths of his soul escaped the barrier of his lips. "You would make me say it, clever boy. Very well, if it hasten your inexorable departure." _And allows me to begin the arduous task of learning to breathe again without you. _Slipping from the bed, carefully gaining his feet and straightening, Hannibal held his arms outstretched and invited Will's full examination. "Behold me. Look upon me and **see**. I am a wretch. Pitiful, ugly, scarred, not as I once was. Likely never to recover my former state. And _you?_ Dearest Will. Could have _such_ a life. You deserve all that may be afforded to a man, especially one with a heart and mind as yours. With the beauty to match it. No matter how much I want you to stay, I love you too much to condemn you to a life with me like _this_. I will not force you to remain, and I will make no attempt to coerce you when you inevitably decide to leave."

Will stood unmoving as a statue, seemingly stunned- though by the spoken declaration of Hannibal's true feelings or his acceptance of Will's imminent abandonment, he knew not and could scarcely guess. But it hardly mattered, as Will could never ache for him that way, could never feel the daily stab of hunger that had been Hannibal's happy affliction for so long.

The younger man opened his mouth as though to rebut, and Hannibal cut him off with quiet force and a finger leveled at his nose.

"If you dare attempt to stay out of some misplaced sense of loyalty, some contorted affection or, heaven forfend, _pity_," he spat the word out contemptuously before reining in the venom. "If you dare, I swear I will remove the decision from your hands. I would rather slit my corpulent throat and bleed unctuous rivers to the ends of the earth than bind you to me with so hatefully barbed a fetter."

Will's eyes went so wide that white was visible clean around the changeable irises. "You can't mean that," he breathed, a terrified hush.

"Don't be foolish, William. Of course I can. And indeed I will. To live without you but knowing you would have a real and full life somewhere is a fate I can accept. But you did not love me when I was perfect; you could never love me now. To _contemplate_ trapping you here with me like a monster hoarding its prey is more disgusting than even I have become. I would rather die than sentence us both to such a cursed existence." Suddenly exhausted from the considerable energy required to muzzle the emotion raging in his chest to be unleashed, Hannibal let himself droop slightly in on himself, eyes fixing on a smooth burl in the hardwood instead of his beloved's hardening expression.

There. It had been said, the matter dragged screaming into the light and laid bare. Surely now Will would go. Surely-

A shift in his periphery and a gentle touch shocked him to the core. Whatever he had been expecting he should have known Will would divert, be the ultimate exception as he always had been.

****

A tingling wave of shock crawled over and through Will, a thousand stinging insects.

_Oh, Hannibal._

He hadn't realized. 

He hadn't known. 

He hadn't been able to see... until now.

For while Hannibal's body had been so affected as he bore the brunt of the sea's wrath, Will's only major loss (aside from the formerly unpierced state of his cheek and maybe a pint or so of blood) had been a strange blow to his empathy. He could still sense, collect faint impressions, but gone was the blown-wide vessel he had once been, able to place another within himself simple as breathing. 

As they knew each other so well, Will hadn't thought it would matter so much. Hannibal had shielded and defended and stood at his side during the Dragon's attack, and when blended with the hundreds of other moments frozen throughout their collective time, the pieces taken together formed an image like a picture puzzle. He was loved by this man, and loved him in return. It should have been enough.

Clinging to each other, they'd washed up on a small beach, neither in a state to be surprised at Chiyoh's presence. After the young pair had patched Hannibal up, Chiyoh handed over a map, the keys to a serviceable nondescript truck, a few prepared bags, and the unceremoniously stated intention to pay a little visit to Bedelia on their behalf. Will's answering smile was only slightly feral, an image of a most interesting main course at a beautiful table laid for 3 filling his mind.

While Hannibal lay bundled and sedated in the backseat, Will made their way north through Ontario. A little town hardly anyone had heard of, miles of sprawling forest around a quiet 2 story cabin fully stocked with books, food, medical supplies, fly-tying gear, a burner phone with a single contact, $3 million in convertible currency... and a fascinating assortment of lube, condoms and other intimate supplies in nearly every room of the house.

So Will had cared for Hannibal, using his hands and actions to say the words he could not, attempted to unmistakably convey the message of love and affection and solidarity. He'd nursed him, cleaned him, fed him, held him close just to feel the rise and fall of his chest. And he'd waited, until Hannibal was well, until he said something, until he was ready for them to become.

He'd noticed a slight softening of Hannibal's form and thought nothing of it. It was just a few pounds, Hannibal's version of a freshman 15; made sense given his injuries and slow recovery. And Will thought it made him a little cuddly, a layer of heartstopping cute around the core of elegant danger and pure unadulterated sex god. He'd noticed a subtle shifting in Hannibal's attitude the longer it went on, some strange melancholy making Hannibal's smiles rarer and smaller and even more fleeting. Hannibal's eyes avoided mirrors, and he'd begun to evade Will's support and casual touches like he thought Will wouldn't notice. Will tried to temper acclimatizing contact with the unspoken request for space, figuring they would talk about it when Hannibal was ready to do so.

Stepping in to ask the man's opinion for lunch yesterday he'd found a freshly showered but clearly exhausted Hannibal leaning against the counter, staring intently at a straightrazor in his hand. He'd actually breathed easier as the older man allowed him to shave the beautifully coarse stubble coating face and throat, and trim the faintly curling ends of glittering hair he couldn't stop running his fingers through. In fact, Will couldn't seem to stop touching him at all - a soft grip on the back of his neck, a hand on his brow, a surreptitious squeeze to a shoulder while gently rearranging him for tricky bits, a swipe of a thumb over smooth skin to 'check for any missed spots', barely suppressing a luminous grin as he held his face and wiped every minute trace of foam away with a warm damp cloth. It even seemed more than once Hannibal leaned into the gentle touches, as though absorbing them to a space deep within. As he finished and attempted to turn Hannibal to face the mirror, a cautiously optimistic thought of perhaps wrapping his arms around that inviting midsection and resting his chin on the visible slope of a shoulder had just begun to heat up - when the man all but ripped himself from Will's hold and fled as fast as he was able. Will had ambled for hours, letting the cold soothe the scald of shame he'd felt at pushing Hannibal in the direction of something they both clearly wanted, yet that the doctor plainly wasn't ready to jump into.

He knew something was up. He knew they would have to talk about it. He even knew the onus of that might rest with him. Never in a million years could Will have anticipated... **this.** The loathing rolled off Hannibal in thick noxious clouds, blinding him to Will's affection, smothering his confidence and distorting his self-image. There was a term for it, dys-something or other; Hannibal would know it, despite the irony of being unable to recognize clearly being in its clutch. The man was too damn cerebral, and had apparently been more wrapped up in the darker corners of his head than Will had realized. It had to stop. He couldn't lose him now, not after all they'd been through to get to each other.

Will would be his light. He would take his hand and they would find their way back out together. He would show Hannibal a new mirror, tell him with hands and mouth and eyes and the totality of his body that Will adored him, accepted him, thought him beautiful and lovable. And he would start right now.

Stepping fully into the other man's personal bubble, Will patiently took Hannibal's face in his hands, tipping his head up and leaning in until the hair spilling across their foreheads kissed and tangled. He waited until blooded amber eyes met his own stormy orbs, allowing them to read all that lay within. They shared one another's air, drinking deep of their amalgamated atmosphere as he fed Hannibal calm and peace and love in careful measure. 

"Do you see me?" Hannibal gave a single solemn nod. "Then hear this, Hannibal Lecter. Your life is not yours to give up. It is **mine**. You're not a stray, you're not a burden, and you're not a monster. What you are is mine, body and soul, as I am yours. I love you, you brilliant idiot. I am hopelessly and irrevocably in love with you. And I am _never_ letting you go. So you're just gonna have to fucking deal with it. Okay?"

Will was, beyond doubt, in profound earnest. It boggled his mind. A sharp pricking behind Hannibal's eyes forced them to close as he struggled to remember how to breathe through a tremulous smile that seemed determined to challenge the anatomical limitations of his face.

The space between them vanished. Their lips met for the first time and held. Time shivered like a single thread of spider's silk, then broke like a shattering window. Hannibal's arms went around him in an instant, pulling the man flush against his body, holding him with a quiet desperation. He kissed Will as if he'd never be allowed another chance to do so.

One hand slid from the soft cradling of Hannibal's face to grip into the long metallic strands at his nape, the other banding across the expanse of those broad shoulders and clinging as he kissed back like they'd be doing so for the rest of their lives.

This first osculation was the sweetest thing either of them had ever tasted. The flavor of the other exploding over their twining tongues was incomparable, instantly obliterating all that had come before it. It stole the breath, it threatened to stop the heart. It was Prometheus commandeering the spark of the heavens for the sake of mortals all over again. Surely the gods would seek to strike them down for daring to steal such happiness, such love with greedy reckless abandon. 

Then again, perhaps even the gods themselves would not dare meddle in the affairs of so empyrean a couple.

Hannibal's hands painted trails of reverent touch over every part of Will's body he could reach without breaking their kiss. They molded themselves over the planes and lines of muscle and bone, testing the fit at the shoulders, arms, back, hips, the firm globes of Will's delectable and distracting ass - and marveling at how every one could be so perfect as to seem tailor-made.

One hand reached down to cup the prominent bulge in the front of Will's trousers, making the man moan against Hannibal's mouth before still-nimble fingers made quick work of the button fly and wrapped around their prize in a tenderly claiming grip.

"Shit!" Will broke away from his lips with a ragged draw of breath and a shiver that licked all the way down his spine. Their foreheads pressed together and Will's eyes slid closed as he battled for equilibrium. "Mm- Hannibal..." A particularly shattered "oh, **_fuck!_**" exploded out as a faintly callused thumb swept over the head of his cock, trailing the clear fluid just starting to flow. Rarely had a simple touch affected him like this, but Will felt his knees beginning to weaken as sinfully talented fingers worked him over. He clutched Hannibal tighter and lost his balance, dragging his lover down with him in a strange parallel of that night. 

They landed on their sides atop the covers with a muffled 'ooph', their comparable heights allowing their legs to comfortably tangle as the kiss was renewed with passionate force. Will slowly rolled Hannibal beneath him, the fingers of one hand tangling in his hair while the other caressed an ambling path down Hannibal's side to his waist. Barely a squeeze allowed before Hannibal went rigid and tried to collect Will's hand in his own, to move touch and attention away from a part of himself he considered distasteful and off-putting. Lacing their fingers together, Will brought their hands up to rest on the pillow beside the other man's face, softly pinning him down.

"Hannibal?" He murmured against his lover's mouth, teasing between soft presses of their lips before pulling back a little to stare down into the face of the man he loved so much his heart felt fit to burst. The uncertainty written there nearly broke it instead. "Do you trust me?" Again, that single tight nod. "Then trust me with all of you." He punctuated his purring plea with unwavering reassurance shining in his eyes and a tiny pucker to the tip of Hannibal's nose. "I've seen it all." A warm brush of lips smoothed over his brow. "I love every bit." Will's teeth rasped the bare hint of stubble forming at his jaw and Hannibal exhaled on a whimper. "I want to see and feel and taste and learn every last beautiful inch of you. Will you let me?"

Consideration was taken, and Will could almost hear the gears whirring in the doctor's head. The answer eventually given was an honest if uncommonly shy susurration of breath against Will's lips. "I can try." Their still entwined hands slid out and unlaced, and Hannibal slowly guided Will's hand under the edge of his sweater before settling a palm between Will's shoulder blades and exerting soft pressure to allow him to recapture his mouth. Will went unresisting, distracting Hannibal from the exploratory sweep of a hand up his side with teeth set into the fullness of his lower lip before licking back into his mouth. Will's mind eagerly catalogued the soft hint of give over resilient muscles where his fingers gently gripped, the crisp brush of chest hair beneath his palm, the flat pad of a nipple as it grazed his thumb. Hannibal arched up into the kiss and Will split focus between the twirling tangle of their tongues and the reactions elicited by a slow circling of his thumb and the curious flick of his nail over the tightening peak. Hannibal's other hand gripped his forearm and pressed up into the contact as a moan reverberated through their chests.

Their hips aligned as Will's knees and the hand still mussing Hannibal's locks shifted to the mattress for balance. Will's mouth left Hannibal's to pepper his skin with kisses and teasing licks: nuzzles along his jawline, a brief fellating of a highly sensitive earlobe, a trail of nibbles and softly sucked bruises up and down the delicious column of his throat. A smattering of mumbled words (only some in English) fell from Hannibal's now unoccupied mouth as Will rucked up the sweater to his clavicles and began a full sensory assault on the bared expanse of his chest. Maddeningly gentle drags of nails all over his skin lit up his nerve endings like Christmas lights. The moist warmth of a tongue laving his nipple followed by a slow cool rush as Will blew air over the marble-hard peak nearly overloaded his brain. The rasp of teeth and firm suction while Will littered his skin with lovebites like blood drops in the snow set his head thrashing against the pillow as he fought to hold back the ecstatic whines threatening to break from his lips. 

Everything felt wonderful, simultaneously too much and not enough, Will's loving embraces like a healing balm over the festering wound he'd been carrying for so _so_ long. Then a hand dropped to toy with the buckle on his belt, slowly working it open. And the repulsive thing still lurking at the edges of his consciousness whispered poison that infected his enjoyment, tainted his passion, sought to paint Will a deceitful seducer. Hannibal shot up with a gasp more pain than pleasure, unseating Will to curl in on himself at the edge of the bed, legs too unsteady to flee.

The bed wobbled a bit before a hand landed with barely-there pressure on his midback and Will settled beside him. "Are you alright?" The silence lingered as Hannibal fought to get a grip and battle back the unhealthy darkness seeking to smother him. When he didn't pull away, Will's chin came to rest on his shoulder, tone soothing and pitched low while his hand rubbed comforting circles on the other man's back. "We don't have to do anything you're not ready for. We don't have to do anything at all."

"No!" Hannibal reached for him blindly as his eyes hooked into Will's, pulling him in until their foreheads touched and their breath blended again. He had to do this, needed it, to hold as proof of his trust in Will's declaration, in the man himself. Such attestation would be a potent weapon in the war against the dark seething of his mind that sought to keep him miserable and alone.

"No. I... I want this. I want _you_, Will." He touched Will's mouth with his own before exhaling a sighed 'please' against his lips. When the younger man nodded, eyes glittering with emotion, Hannibal stood and placed the hands he retained at his hips while he undid his belt and fly and carefully parted the fabric before setting his hands on Will's shoulders. "Whatever you will do is what I want."

The awesome fragility of the trust being placed in his hands like a newborn child threatened to engulf Will, but he drew in a deep stabilizing breath as he slipped his hands between fabric and flesh and slowly slid the trousers and boxers to the ground for Hannibal to step out of.

The man stood half-naked before him, eyes never leaving each other's as Will touched carefully, palms slowly skimming his calves and teasing his thighs and cupping his hips, fingers testing the delightful firmness of Hannibal's ass before sliding a single questing finger along the seam. When Will's finger brushed his entrance, he saw the momentary confusion, then the dawning realization that rounded his eyes and loosened his jaw as his fingers provided confirmation. "Hannibal, you're... did you... _when?_"

By the gods, but the man was radiant when he blushed. "I... earlier... thinking of you."

Trying not to be floored by the dual revelations that Hannibal wanted him to such a degree and was already... prepped, Will retrieved a bottle of lube from the bedside drawer and refreshed the lingering wetness before liberally coating himself. He reached for Hannibal, to guide him softly into his lap and claim his mouth in a kiss as their bodies slotted together- but Hannibal resisted.

"I... if you would't mind. Could we try... like this?" Hannibal turned to the wall and bent a leg to set on the bed, using Will's feet on the floor as a marker and his hands for stability before he brought the other to rest on the other side. Will's thighs were snugly caged by his calves, and the material still wrapped around his foot was carefully disengaged by Will before a series of soft kisses were pressed over the knobs of his spine.

Will had never been particularly religious, though he tried to always be a good person and recalled the occasional Sunday sermon in the Louisiana backwater of his childhood. The fullness of Hannibal was not merely skin; no term, anatomical or otherwise, could hope to encompass or explain it correctly. The expression _'sins of the flesh' _arose unbidden in his mind, though nothing about the man moving against him was anything less than divine. _Flesh,_ however, seemed the perfect descriptor for the voluptuous masculine beauty preparing to impale himself on Will's slicked and rigid cock. 

When Will reached to fully remove the sweater Hannibal stopped his hands, the needful affection on his profile overwritten with naked apprehension. _Alright. Baby steps, _Will decided. So it went that they fucked for the first time half-dressed, the older man up on his knees over Will's lap, a quick coupling as he stabilized the older man's occasionally swaying form, pulling him into a shielding embrace as he made tender intrusions into Hannibal's yielding body. The stretch and heated velvet slide nearly undid them, the dig of Hannibal's nails into the meat of Will's thigh grounding them both.

It felt amazing. Better than that. There weren't words in the English language adequate to describe the sensation of being together like this. Hannibal began to tremble as his speed increased, Will aiding him with a bruising grip over his hips as he pulled Hannibal more fully onto his cock with every thrust.

"Will! Unnh- please!" The commanding plea combined with a tightening in the velvet sheath around his cock and suddenly he was coming, spending deep within Hannibal, pleasure unspooling through his body like an intravenous drug. Gathering him close while Hannibal eased his legs straight, Will pulled him flush against his chest and tugged, letting them fall into the cradling embrace of the bed as they caught their breath.

"Are you alright?" Will breathed into his hair, a cold lick of anxiety swiping up his spine at the thought he might've hurt him.

"Mm. Quite. Thank you." Will's hands began a comforting circuit over Hannibal's chest and belly, expanding the edges a little with each pass until he brushed against his groin and was met with a rigid surprise. His fingers curled softly around the erection, the pad of his thumb tracing the frenulum as he fought through the post-orgasmic fog to replay the highlights of their lovemaking. _Right. Well, let's fix that. _As he softened and eased out of his lover, he soothed away the faint whine that left Hannibal at the loss with a tender tangle of their tongues, pulling back with a soft promissory peck before kissing a path down his pliant body, abused sweater once again bunched out of the way. Still taking every opportunity to learn and explore, Will teased his mouth over a scar on Hannibal's side as his hand took a careful grip on the fascinating fullness of his tummy, feeling it fill his palm. The man stiffened for a second, then relaxed as Will lavished praise and affection all over the exposed skin, making clear his delight at the uninhibited access. He dotted Hannibal's belly and thighs with constellations of kisses and comet streaks of tongue and felt the universe laid beneath him shiver.

Taking a moment to settle, Will drank in the sight of Hannibal's majestic cock like it was a feast as he took him in hand. Using his tongue to flick and swirl over the head and lick long stripes from root to tip and cradle the weight of the thick shaft as he hollowed his cheeks and swallowed him down, the former profiler calmly drove his partner out of his mind with need. The length of one forearm was a leverage vice to safely pin jerking hips while Will nuzzled into the trembling hands cupping his face and continued to work him over with just the right pressure and a soft squeezing twist at the top and a humming groan that went straight through Hannibal's cock and flashed through his entire body like heat lightning. 

He knew the younger man would've been more than content to finish him this way and drink him down, but Hannibal had other ideas. Carefully easing him off and drawing in a deep centering breath, Hannibal tugged Will up into a kiss and stripped him down, laying him bare across the bed as he read over smooth skin and fading scars 

Rising up onto his protesting knees, Hannibal reached for the loose hem of his sweater... and hesitated, letting his eyes close a fraction of an instant before they snapped open again to meet Will's. The profound depth of the love he saw there took his breath away, giving him the courage to whisk the fabric off in a smooth motion and add it to the pile forgotten on the floor, leaving himself bare to his lover. Will's hands dispensed reverent caresses to his thighs, his hips, the small swell of his stomach, as far as he could reach until Hannibal carefully dropped over him, weight braced on his arms as Will drew him in hungrily. Their mouths met in a ferocious clash while every available inch of skin that pressed and molded together sent their nerve endings singing. Erotic happiness imprinted on the molecular level, sheer subatomic bliss as they rewrote themselves into the other's DNA.

Eventually sating the younger man with deep kisses long enough to disentangle himself, Hannibal began penning a love story across the pages of Will's body with touch and taste and the livid marks of his teeth. Fingers threaded into his hair as he sucked a radiant bruise over a jutting hipbone like a signature, even as Hannibal inscribed his name lovingly with the tip of his tongue - the faint impressions of his ever-perfect calligraphy nearly perceptible despite the invisible ink. 

Nudging Will's thighs apart with his shoulders, Hannibal reached for the small bottle that had miraculously not been lost to the floor and coated his fingers, petting Will with a free hand as he rolled the slick gel to warm it.

One finger at a time, prepping his lover with a blend of lubricant, technical knowledge and infinite care, he felt Will open to him like a flower to the sun.

When he breached him finally, it went in inches and degrees. Slow, achingly tender, the sensation nearly overwhelmed by the intense unbreaking connection of their eyes, speaking to the soul, knitting them together on layers that could not hope to be explained in mere words. Will's hands gripped his biceps as long legs wrapped around his hips, ankles locking together at the base of his spine to hold him impossibly closer. As if he would dare to go anywhere, **be** anywhere or anything but here, now, with Will.

In and out, languid as waves lapping at a shoreline, frequently dipping low to tangle their chest hair and let their lips brush. Time was forgotten as the pressure built with comfortable ease, aided further when Hannibal pushed up to settle back on his heels, hands smoothing over Will's panting sides to his hips to pull him more fully into his lap.

It became the careful composition of a plate, the swelling conduction of a sexual symphony. The rhythmic slap of skin on skin. The slick slide of penetration. The harsh grunt of a bitten-back groan. The rushing thrum of heated blood in the veins. The protesting creak of boxspring and bed frame. The whispering brush of bodies over bedsheets. The broken syllables of his name spilling from Will's lips like a halting benediction, punctuated with profanity and sharp inhalations.

_Yes. Gods yes. Let it break. Let it rise. Let it come. Let me feel it. Let me feel you._ Belatedly Hannibal realized these words were not merely echoing within his mind but being breathed into the ethereal stillness of the room around them. He did not care. Love and praise poured out like holy water, and he exhaled adoration to reshape the atmosphere.

Twisting the sheets in a white-knuckled fist, Will made a desperate grab for Hannibal's hand, holding on for dearest life as he set his heels into the bed and began to meet Hannibal's thrusts with wanton abandon.

The undone syntax was spoken in time with each roll of his hips. "Will, _mylimasis_. I'm- ahh - I'm going to..."

"Come for me. God, please- come for me!" 

And Hannibal broke, grasping Will tight and raising them from perdition before taking the world down with him.

****

Despite a small kernel of concern that Will might vanish as soon as he took his eyes off him, Hannibal made his way to the bathroom and retrieved a washcloth which he soaked in warm water. As he shut off the tap and prepared to return to the bedroom, his eyes flicked to the mirror and snagged on the reflection there. Steeling himself with a deep breath, Hannibal willingly met his own eyes for the first time in a quarter of a year. He looked, he examined, he noted, he saw.

His skin was mottled with purple and red blotches, the impressions of teeth, faint fingermarks that promised to darken into emphatic punctuation. He was glistening with perspiration, his eyes were glowing with satisfaction, and his hair was a complete mess.

He'd never looked happier. 

For the first time in months he saw himself, without a filter of dysmorphia. He saw what he imagined Will saw. He was changed, yes, but not diminished. And for the first time in a long time, even when he'd been superior in his aesthetic, even when he'd known he was pleasing and attractive to others... for the first time in a long time, he felt beautiful.

A remarkably calm sigh of relief escaped at the sight of Will still lying where he'd left him. Hannibal carefully cleaned Will, then himself, and tossed the washcloth at the pile of clothing on the floor to be dealt with in the morning. Then he took a sip of the water he'd set there hours ago, feeling its refreshing slide within him, slid beneath the covers and carefully laid down beside Will.

In the aftermath, Will lay sleeping. Perhaps dreaming, though nightmares plagued him with enviable infrequency here. With the hard knot of fear he'd carried for so long still loosening in his chest, Hannibal was almost afraid to follow him into rest for the worry this would reveal itself a dream - or worse, a cold reality that saw Will fled by the dawn. So he calmed himself through one of his favorite past times- drinking in the features of his beloved.

He was half on his stomach, half on his side, turned to face Hannibal's warmth like a sunflower, far arm almost twisted behind his back so his knuckles rested in the lumbar. The other reached up near his face, framing it like a Wisesnail portrait - a longstanding favorite of Hannibal's, typified not only by their breathtaking ethereal beauty, but also by the faint rings of gold often haloing the subjects' faces like divine highlights. He speculated it was a mark of early artistic influences, perhaps the Renaissance masters. He himself had frequently sketched Will as Ganymede or the Madonna, or in the style of a Della Francesca. One of his greatest losses of home was a small Wisesnail piece he'd won at auction. After his Leda and the Swan, it held pride of place in his home for its high skill and haunting loveliness that begged he indulge in it at least an hour a week.

His fingers were curled softly into the meat of Hannibal's shoulder, a touch of grounding reassurance for them both - _so I know you're still here_. Like so many other things unique to Will and their relationship alone, it affected Hannibal to the core. 

_If you are foolish enough to stay and love me, _Hannibal determined,_ then I am selfish enough to keep you. If I am__ dreaming, please never let me wake_.

Carefully, he tangled his fingers with Will's, pressing a feather-light kiss of reverence to the knuckles before allowing the bed to more fully cradle him, his hip to just nestle under Will's, and for sleep to claim him at last.

If it wasn't for the moonlight streaming through a break in the curtains, Will likely never would've seen it. Waking an hour or so after Hannibal had joined him, Will became aware of things in degrees. A warm pressure under his hip, the soft huff of breath over the back of his hand like breeze in a field, a sense of rightness in the world, wrapped in a cashmere ribbon of soul-deep peace. Shifting up gently to lean on his elbow, careful not to dislodge the fingers that delicately caged his own, he marveled at the vision lying peacefully beside him. Hannibal's face was turned towards his as though keeping watch, features flawless in repose, a peace so rare to spot these days fully painted across the planes and curves and sweetly broken lines that revealed the unique outline of his love. Every inch he could see - from the glinting metallic strands so charmingly untamed to the matching tangle on his powerful chest, the sharp reliefs of reemerging muscle beneath the thin layer of adipose and miles of firm warm skin that brought to mind marble statues of Greek heroes, even the whispering lines of the scars that bore the tale of their time - was limned in silver, giving Hannibal an almost angelic sheen.

And that was how Will saw it. As his eyes traversed back from the perpetually affecting sight of Hannibal's bare feet and the outcrop of hip that had emerged when the sheets slid with his last breath, his eyes drank in the features of Hannibal's face - and caught on a faint diamond shimmer that could not be attributed to the long-since cooled and dried sweat that had coated them earlier. 

Leaning in by degrees, Will was almost shocked to recognize a tear trapped in the slight hollow at the bridge of his lover's aristocratic nose. There had been a photo in the paper while he'd been in the BSHCI of Hannibal at the opera, flawlessly attired in a tux that fit him like a second skin, stamped in pristine color across the society page that Will had wanted to claw into shreds like a frustrated wolf. But when he'd snuck a hi-res second look on Chilton's unguarded tablet, he'd been struck by something. Fingers sweeping across the screen to zoom in, Will had spotted the unmistakable stamp of tears in Hannibal's eyes, so moved had he proved by the soprano's impactful performance. Will had hated the sight of it, this proof that his psychopathic doctor would shed tears over aesthetics and not the twisted ethics he'd bound Will in.

He'd seen tears in Hannibal's eyes since - the night he'd almost gutted Will in his kitchen while holding him so tenderly, the day he'd spotted Will in the museum in Florence, the night he'd allowed himself to be taken into custody.

This tear, so simple in its statement, nearly overwhelmed Will's sensibilities. He wanted to taste it, to absorb it within himself, to guard it and always keep it safe.

It was the Beast of the fairy tale, granting gemstones because the Beauty had wept for him. It was the villain learning they had a heart after all. It was.... love, distilled into a medium that transcended word, or thought, or deed.

As he lay down again, snuggling closer so their bodies aligned like puzzle pieces and his head was on Hannibal's pillow, lips brushing over his shoulder, Will settled back down into slumber. 

_It's beautiful, _he thought as the comforting darkness enfolded them. 

And it was.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first Bang, reverse or otherwise. Fascinating premise really. Think I'll do it again sometime.
> 
> So... that was my thing. Hope you liked it. Kudos and comments always welcome and appreciated; just don't be rude.


End file.
